On Fire
by Hirschie's Chocolate
Summary: The story of how Jasper became a Vampire. Oneshot, T for violence. NOTE: WRITTEN BEFORE RELEASE OF ECLIPSE: INFO INCONGRUOUS WITH INFO FROM ECLIPSE


Searing pain shoots through my torso. Time seems to slow as I lower my rifle. I glance at the blood trickling down my gray uniform. I stagger backwards and hunch over at the impact of a second bullet hitting my lower stomach. My rifle drops, and I slowly fall to the ground. I lie there, my breathing labored, baking under the hot July sun. A stain of blood spreads across the front of my jacket, turning the gray into a deep burgundy.

The sounds of the battlefield come back; loud bangs of guns and cannons, men and horses crying out in pain, others shouting orders at the top of their lungs. Finally, after two years of this war, I feel a twinge of fear. Not the usual fear; not the fear for my fellow soldiers; not the fear I felt as we realized the advantage the Union had from the hills. No—I am afraid for my own life. Afraid that I will never see my young sister marry, never see my parents grow old. Of course I have been injured before, but never like this. I have been grazed by bullets and other minor injuries, but never like this. Who knew what the bullets had punctured? I will die here and now, on July 3, 1863 in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

Then a small voice in the back of my mind says, _no_. I didn't become a major in the Confederate Army to give up from two bullet wounds. I have the ability to stand up, and I will. I fight back the fear, and feel around for my rifle. Gingerly I stand up. My head spins and my stomach burns. I ready my rifle and get out the gun powder. A loud bang sounds above all the others, and everything goes white.

I am burning, I can't breathe. It feels as if my skin has been burned off and sharp nails are attempting to scratch at whatever is left. I don't know what to do. I can't think. I don't even know if I'm alive or not. But how could I not be? Death can't be this painful—at least not at first. There is a loud hum in my ears, and I want to scream but I don't know if I can—or if I already am.

And then everything goes black.

I hear a rustling sound and whispering. I can barely make out what they are saying though, they speak so fast.

"What about that one?"

"Is he alive?"

"Of course he's alive; can't you hear his heart beat?"

The pain starts to come back as a dull throb in my torso. I must be in Hell. I know that that is where I should be; all of that life lost at my hands. Even though at war, it can not be accurately justified. Recently I had begun to think about why I was fighting this war, and with whom I should be siding. When the war began I knew I would fight for my home, my Texas. But as it progressed my nationalism faltered. I began seeing the Union as the good guys, even though they were my enemy. How could it not be a mortal sin to have people who did nothing wrong but be born into a Negro family, work as slaves? (Another reason I should be damned,) but I had gone too far to turn back—I was a major now.

If this was Hell, they weren't doing a very good job at torturing me. Maybe I am supposed to think I am crazy; hearing voices in the middle of a desolate battlefield.

A rustling sound to my right wakes me from my thoughts. A cold, smooth hand strokes my cheek, and I try to open my eyes. After a few seconds, I manage to slowly open them a bit. My vision is hazy, but I can make out the outline of a woman against the night sky. At least I think it is night; it could just be my sight failing.

The woman's lower lip trembles, and I hear a chuckle come from somewhere behind her. I strain my eyes to see to the side of the woman and the silhouette of a man comes into focus.

"Do you want to live?" The woman softly asks. When I hear her voice it is as if she is singing me a lullaby. She has the softest, most beautiful voice. For some reason I am reminded of the Sirens' song from Greek legend; beautiful but deceitful. I can not believe how this woman can be deceitful, though.

I manage to choke out a sound that is a mix between a sigh and a grunt, ghastly in comparison to the strange woman's beauty. She leans in a little, and I can see her face. It is the most beautiful face I have ever seen. Her skin seems to be illuminated in the moonlight. She has a heart-shaped face with dark eyes surrounded by long, curved lashes. Short, jet black ringlets frame her face, falling out of a bun atop her head.

"My name is Maria," she breathes, and I catch the scent of her for the first time. It is the sweetest aroma I have ever come across—sweeter than any French perfume.

"Would you like to come with us?" She asks. "We can help you…unless you want to stay here, and leave the world." I don't want to go to Hell. This angel is giving me the chance to redeem myself, and I want it. I stiffly shift my head down in a nod, and Maria smiles and leans over to place cold lips to my throat. I feel a prick, and a second later Maria sits up, her lips red with blood. For a split second I am confused as to what she did; how she could have saved me.

But I don't have the time to think, because once again I am in pain.

Fire erupts in my throat. I twist and writhe, screaming in agony as my stomach erupts again from my struggling. Maria and her companion just sit and watch, and I am once again reminded of the Sirens. I fell for their song, and this is my punishment.

I feel cold arms slip under me, and I am floating in my pain. As I float, the fire spreads up my neck to my chin and ears. I can hear nothing, can think of nothing but the pain. The fire spreads to my cheeks and I want to rip them off. I would be clawing at my face, but the cold iron grip supporting me won't allow it. I can feel myself being lowered onto a feather mattress, as the fire spreads to my eyes. My screams increase, and I can faintly hear someone's attempts at soothing me.

Over the next few days the pain increases. It is worse than the cannonball pain—much worse, though I thought that was impossible. There are no metaphors to describe it, except that instead of being on fire, I am fire. The fire is inside me, and there is no way to quench it. Instead of passing out from the pain, it keeps me awake, and it won't end. I must be dying, but why won't death come? I wish for it, pray for it constantly.

Then finally, the pain starts to ebb away, replaced by a new, powerful feeling. I open my eyes. My vision adjusts itself and I can see Maria looking at me, smiling, relief painted in her eyes. I can now see what I couldn't in the dim light of the moon a few night ago; her skin is incredibly pale, and her eyes are a shocking burgundy—the color of blood.

"Feeling better?" she asks. Her voice doesn't strike me as it did when I first saw her, and neither does her beauty.

"What...what did you do to me?" I finally ask.

She smiles and says, "You wanted to live, and I gave you that chance. Well, in one sense." She pauses for a moment, then asks, "Can you guess what I am?" I try to think, but all the knowledge from all the books I have read seems to have flown out of my mind. Maria chuckles darkly and says, "I'm a vampire." She looks at me apprehensively, trying to read my expression. I try to wrap my mind around the word, and vaguely remember tales of blood drinkers with long, sharp fangs who burn in the sun.

"Wha—Am I—" I stutter. I see Maria frown.

"Y-yes," She answers. My confusion seems to have flustered her for some reason.

Questions explode in my mind. _What about my family? What about the war? How do I…eat?_ Maria seems to get just as anxious as I am. _Why is Maria upset?_

"W-How are you doing that?" She breathes.

"Doing what?" I ask.

"I was fine a few seconds ago, and now I can't seem to calm down…" Her eyes frantically seem to search for something on my face, and realization dawns on her. "Oh," she says quickly and quietly, but to my surprise I can hear her perfectly. I become confused again and she becomes anxious again. "Stop," she moans. "Just…try to relax. I know it's difficult, but please; let me explain." She turns her burgundy eyes to mine, almost pleading. I try to calm myself, but it is awfully hard when I don't know what it is I'm doing to make Maria so stressed.

"Some vampires," she begins, "have special talents. A sixth sense, if you will. Yours is very interesting…it seems you can control the feelings of people around you." She looks at me wonderingly, and I look back bemused. "You have much to learn," she says, and smiles again.


End file.
